


On Angels and Jealousy

by undertheinktree



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley is a Softie, Love, M/M, aziraphale is basically the patron saint of LGBT people, jealousy or lack thereof, no real plot just a bunch of thoughts and considerations, pre-armageddidn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undertheinktree/pseuds/undertheinktree
Summary: Everything about Aziraphale is excruciatingly easy to love.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	On Angels and Jealousy

Everything about Aziraphale is excruciatingly easy to love. Crowley found out first hand six thousand years ago and has slowly come to terms with this simple truth.

Everything, from his innate kindness to his stubbornness, from his commitment to following the rules to his inclination to breaking them, from his indisputable cleverness to his gullible innocence. Through the course of history Crowley has learnt to recognize and accept the slight pain he feels in his chest whenever the angel’s eyes light up when he tastes a remarkably rich dessert or when, even after millennia on Earth, every year he marvels at the miracle of spring returning.

With the passing of time, however, Crowley has also realized he isn’t alone in thinking that.

Demons can’t sense Love the way angels do, like a warm wave deep in their souls, but Crowley has been around human beings long enough to be able to recognize it when he sees it in their expressions, and he has lost count of how many times Aziraphale was the reason behind the sudden burst of light in a person’s eyes.

They are momentary Loves, fleeting the way only a human’s feeling can be, but true Loves nonetheless. They sprout from different seeds and speak different languages, that Crowley has learnt to decipher.

_(I want to know your deepest thoughts)_

Crowley hears it in the laughter of a French woman who spent hours speaking to Azirpahale in a Parisian salon. The angel clears his throat politely and keeps recounting the latest installment of _The count of Montecristo._

_(you understand what I’m feeling)_

He sees in the grin of a young man drunk on cheap whisky, who managed in his incoherent rant to never explicitly confess what is troubling him. Aziraphale just squeezes his shoulder with a caring smile.

_(you are different)_

He reads it in the eyes of the daughter of a patrician man in imperial Rome and in those of a college student who showed up at the bookshop to shelter from the rain.

_(you are just like me)_

There are times when it happens more frequently, when fear and desperation are so deeply rooted in the hearts of people that the mere presence of the angel is enough to ignite a spark of hope in those who have the luck to cross paths with him.

 _(_ t _hank God you’re here)_

_(you’re brilliant)_

_(stay with me)_

_(maybe the world is better than I thought)_

Through the years, Crowley has found everything he ever felt mirrored in the eyes of millions of strangers who fell in Love with Aziraphale just a few moments after meeting him.

He is familiar with the concept of Jealousy. He’s a demon, after all, and Jealousy is a powerful mean to tempt people into making choices they will quickly regret. Whispering a simple sentence like _Who’s that guy your wife is talking to?_ is a simple way to push at least three or four human beings a bit closer to their darkest impulses. Many say it’s an essential part of Love, the proof of it being real in the first place.

He wondered, once, if he should be jealous of the Love people feel for Aziraphale.

It happened a rainy afternoon, a few years before the failed Apocalypse. He was hanging out in the angel’s bookshop, the way he often did at the time, when a middle-aged man had showed up with an old copy of _Howl_ he wanted to sell. Crowley stood aside while Aziraphale spoke with the man, sharing thoughts about poetry and literature. Ginsberg lead to Whitman, who lead to Scott, and the conversation went on for hours, among passionate commentaries and heartfelt laughters.

Alone in his corner of the room, Crowley studied the man’s expression, recognized Love

_(you’re beautiful)_

_(keep talking)_

_(let me stay)_

and realized that would be a perfect moment to feel Jealousy.

He searched his soul for loathing and resentment but quickly gave up when all he could find was the same Love he was seeing in the man’s eyes.

The laughter of the man trailed off and he sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. _God, you remind me so much of him,_ he murmured. Aziraphale’s face softened into a warm smile and he leaned over to squeeze his hand.

Alone in his corner of the room, Crowley smiled too.

Everything about Aziraphale is excruciatingly easy to love, and Crowley knows that the ease with which people fall in Love with him is just another one of these things.

That’s what you get when you love an angel: every time you see someone’s eyes light up in front of the being you devoted your existence to

_(you saved me)_

_(you see me)_

_(I’ll protect you)_

you are reminded of the thousands of reasons why you fell in Love in the first place, and you can’t help falling a bit deeper every time.

Although he can’t sense Love, Crowley has learnt to recognize it in the eyes, the smiles and the gestures of people, focusing on how they speak to Aziraphale.

This way, when he finally allows himself to hope just enough to focus on Aziraphale himself when the angel is speaking to him,

_(thank God you’re here)_

_(you’re different)_

_(you’re just like me)_

_(you’re beautiful)_

_(keep talking)_

_(you saved me)_

_(you’re brilliant)_

_(I’ll protect you)_

he hears it, he sees it and he understands.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr @undertheinktree!


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